


i will possess your heart

by zhuzhubi



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Agent As Unsub, Angst, Dark, Dark fic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Delusions, F/M, Hallucinations, Masturbation, Obsessive Behavior, Past Drug Use, Possessive Behavior, Spencer Reid as Unsub, Stalking, spencer is a total creep in this be warned, stalker!spencer reid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:46:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27927724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhuzhubi/pseuds/zhuzhubi
Summary: spencer sees her in the library and immediately knows that he’s in love. all he needs to do is protect her until it’s safe for them to finally be together. everything will be wonderful after that, he’s sure of it.(or, spencer is a stalker and reader is his obsession)
Relationships: one-sided Spencer Reid/Reader, past Spencer Reid/Maeve Donovan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 43





	i will possess your heart

**Author's Note:**

> a request from my tumblr, @zhuzhubii
> 
> also - ooooh man did i have fun with this one hehe...

Spencer sees her for the first time on a Wednesday.

It’s 5:47pm - he’s stopping by the library after work, just running in to grab a few books before they close for the night. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about that day in particular, nothing unusual about how the library smells or sounds. Spencer himself is just going about his normal routine, he’s running through the Dewey Decimal System in his mind and heading straight for the aisle he’s looking for.

He never makes it there. Instead, something stops him in his tracks - there’s a woman pushing a cart of books, humming softly to herself as she picks them up one by one and slides them back onto the shelves. He’s never seen her before - her hands are absolutely mesmerizing as she trails her fingers over the spines, brushing dust off of the covers and handling them with a delicacy he can’t help but admire. His jaw falls open as he watches her in a daze - he must let out some kind of noise because she turns in his direction, her hair fanning outward as she spins around - 

Spencer doesn’t know what compels him to do it, but he hides from her. Ducks into one of the aisles and peers at her through the shelves, his heart pounding in his chest and his breath shaky in his throat. She looks around in confusion for a second before turning back to her work, tucking her hair behind her ears as she mumbles something unintelligible and chuckles to herself. He can’t see her face anymore, but that brief glimpse was enough - Spencer feels something building in his belly, something warm and fuzzy. Something hot and heavy. Something that reminds him of letters and phone booths and _the way her blood pooled thick on the floor afterwards, how much it hurt to touch her cooling hands before Alex ripped him away from his love -_

_No!_ Spencer pushes the thought away, clenching his eyes shut and trying to shake those memories out of his mind, _It won’t be like that, I’ll protect her. I will, I will - I promise I’ll protect her this time!_

He’s never meant anything with more of his heart - he remembers how scary it was for Maeve, how she hid away while he was powerless to protect her. He remembers being trapped in prison, locked up in a cage, being stuck somewhere so horrible that he had to _hurt himself_ to achieve some semblance of safety - and even then he still feared for his life. He doesn’t want that for the pretty woman in front of him pushing a squeaky cart through the otherwise silent library, re-shelving books with such delicate, innocent care. He will _not_ let anything bad happen to her.

She turns the corner and disappears from his field of vision - the panic Spencer feels is so strong, so stark. He never wants to let her go, never wants to let her out of his sight. But something inside of him tells him to bide his time, that if he’s not patient he’ll only frighten her. 

She doesn’t know yet that she needs protecting, after all - if he tries to keep her safe before she knows that she’s in danger she won’t accept his help. She’ll only push him away - he knows this because he’s done it a thousand times himself, has pushed his friends away because he didn’t think he needed their help. He just needs to wait until she’s ready to accept it, then he can protect her and everything will be wonderful. 

_I won’t be so naive like I was with Maeve,_ Spencer thinks, _I’ll look after her and everything will be perfect this time._

Spencer pulls a few random books from the shelves and takes them up to the front, smiles and chats with Mrs. Miller as she scans his library card and asks him about his day. He lets his gaze wander to the one-hundreds, to the section he saw her in just a few minutes before -

“Oh, did you meet (y/n)?” Mrs. Miller’s voice jolts him out of his stupor, “She just started on Monday, isn’t she nice?”

_(y/n),_ he mouths, rolling it over in his mouth a few times to test out the feel before realizing that Mrs. Miller is still waiting for a response. He blushes and clears his throat, stuttering, “Y-yeah, um - yes. Yes she is, she really is.”

And maybe that response is a little too flustered, a little too out of the ordinary, but it’s the end of the workday and Mrs. Miller has a habit of tuning Spencer out when he rambles. She doesn’t even look up as she slides his books over the counter, doesn’t pay attention when he leaves in a rush. In fact, when she gets questioned by law enforcement months and months later, Mrs. Miller won’t remember this Wednesday night at all.

…

Her apartment is on the fourth floor and Spencer laments the fact that he can’t see inside. _What if someone sneaks in while I’m not looking?_ he thinks, _It’s bad enough that I can’t keep an eye on her while I’m away for work, but how negligent of a guardian would I have to be to let something happen to her while I’m here, while I’m watching?_

For the third time since he met (y/n), Spencer contemplates resigning from the BAU to teach full time. It’s alluring to think about always being in DC, to think about being able to keep a closer eye on his love. But then again, if he leaves the BAU who’s to say that one of those horrible monsters won’t come after her? _I’m only leaving to make the world a little safer for her,_ he rationalizes, _It’s worth the risk of her being alone for a little while sometimes._

But it still hurts _so much_ to be away from her - his eidetic memory allows him to recall her features in perfect detail, but it just isn’t the same as having her in front of him. He wishes he had a piece of her to keep with him, something he could hold in his hands that would remind him of her. _If I just had something,_ he thinks, _I could be a little calmer, I wouldn’t be so distracted at work._

Some part of him wishes he could tell his team - his friends - about her, that he could gush about her to someone and have them tease him about his crush. But he knows that they wouldn’t understand, that they would only worry - his brain conjures up Emily’s voice, shows him images of her sitting him down and _saying Spencer, are you sure it’s not too soon? I’m just worried this might, well…I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all. Have you been going to therapy like I suggested? It’s going to take time to heal after everything that happened, you don’t have to be ashamed of needing help, Spencer -_

“Shut up,” he mumbles under his breath, digging his palm into his eye as he tries to chase Emily away, “You don’t know anything, you don’t understand. Therapy doesn’t help, _(y/n)_ does.”

Spencer stopped going to therapy as soon as the Bureau stopped mandating it - his therapist never told him anything he didn’t already know, wasn’t smart enough to see through every fake smile and practiced I’m fine. It was useless as far as he’s concerned, just another thing designed to hold him back, another thing making his life harder. _And she was such a hypocrite too,_ he thinks, _Bags under her eyes, a tan line on her finger but no wedding band - she acted like I was a mess, well what does that make her?_

A bird chirps nearby and it jolts him out of his thoughts. It’s Saturday and the sun is warm on his face, children are playing in a jungle gym nearby. He tears his gaze away from the apartment complex across the road and focuses on the chessboard in front of him, moving his rook and remembering when Gideon told him to _think outside the box._

The curtains rustle in one of the units on the fourth floor. White captures a pawn. Spencer hears a door slam closed in the distance. The black queen gets white in check. A familiar set of footsteps echo on the pavement, keys rattle as she locks up on her way out. White takes a bishop. Spencer can’t help but watch her out of the corner of his eye, tracking her movements as she makes her way down the street, her hips swaying as she steps _one two three four five -_

The black knight sees an opportunity and the white king has nowhere to go. Checkmate. Black wins. 

Spencer stands up and follows her down the road.

… 

There’s a woman’s picture taped to the case board in front of him, a woman he’s only ever seen lying dead in a morgue. He wonders if the unsub has one, if the unsub pulls it out when he’s alone and remembers how pretty his victim was while she was alive. It disgusts Spencer - he wants to catch this sick bastard so that no more pretty girls get hurt. He imagines what it would feel like if it was _his_ pretty girl’s face taped to this case board, if it was (y/n)’s picture hanging alongside the gruesome crime scene photos.

The thought is too horrible, it makes him feel sick to his stomach - the thing is that Spencer knows _exactly_ how it would feel. He’s been the helpless boyfriend, he’s been the best friend who didn’t make it there in time. He’s been the son who had to face down his fears, knowing one wrong move would result in his mother’s demise. 

He’s been the victim countless times, has been handcuffed by a sick man with a knife and vial of hydromorphone hydrochloride, has been handcuffed by the justice system he took a vow to uphold. Spencer knows how it would feel from every angle twice over, and he’s not about to let that happen to his girl.

He shakes himself out of his daze and returns to his maps, drawing out algorithms and color-coding his geographic profile as he mutters deductions to himself. It’s two in the morning when Emily finally orders him to go back to the hotel, and even then he protests - _I’m almost there, I know it. Just a few more minutes -_

Emily is adamant, and so he goes (though not without tucking a copy of the case files under his arm). He shuts himself inside his hotel room and combs over them by lamp light, reading and re-reading the files until his eyes feel raw with exhaustion.

The thing is that Spencer doesn’t really want to be alone right now, is a little afraid of his thoughts. The thing is that Spencer took something he knows he shouldn’t have, and it’s hidden away on his phone. He hasn’t looked since he first took it, first _stole_ it - he’s barely even opened his phone since. But he can see it in his mind’s eye and he knows, _oh how he knows_ how much better it would be to have it in front of him. 

A person can only resist temptation for so long. Spencer knows that all too well, though he’s loath to admit it - he’d like to believe that he’s never relapsed, but in reality that’s a lie. He went back after Gideon left, shot up one shameful time when Emily was ~~dead~~ away and he couldn’t make himself bother JJ anymore. He snuck a few hits between Maeve’s death and going back to work, rubbed some into his gums in prison before tainting the supply. Spencer has an addictive personality - he’s not good at leaving his vices alone, and recently he’s picked up a new vice.

Taking the picture had nothing to do with protecting her, Spencer knows that. But he couldn’t stop himself - he needed a piece of her to take with him when he can’t be by her side. It’s just a memento, a keepsake, something he can look at and imagine how wonderful things will be once he and (y/n) can finally be together. Once he’s made the world safe enough for her and she doesn’t have to be afraid anymore.

He opens up his phone and pulls out his keepsake, looking down on it with hooded eyes and heavy breath as he traces a finger over her form. _She’s so beautiful_ , he thinks as his lips pull upwards into a smile, _I love her so much._

Spencer finds himself stumbling backwards onto the bed, imagining how perfectly she’ll fit in his arms, how lovely she’ll sound in the throes of pleasure. His right hand trails down his chest without him telling it to, tracing patterns over his navel before dropping down and resting over his belt.

And Spencer knows that he shouldn’t do it, but he just can’t stop himself. 

He undoes his belt, unbuttons his slacks. Pulls his fly open one zip at a time. His erection is already straining against the fabric, leaking pre-cum into his underwear as he stares down at the picture. He imagines her hands as he wraps his fingers around himself, thumbing over the slit and dragging the slickness over the length of his cock. His hips buck upwards as he pants her name, moaning, “(y/n), (y/n) I love you. I love you,” as he comes undone under his own palm. 

He keeps his eyes open the entire time, using his free hand to trace over her lips, her hair, her hips - he wants her, _oh how he wants her._ He recalls what she sounded like the other day when he overheard her chatting with Mrs. Miller on her break. Her voice was so perfect, everything about her is so perfect and so pure and so _good._

Spencer cums with a yelp, painting his belly as he throws his head back against the wall and lets his eyes flutter closed. He lays there panting, shuddering from the force of his orgasm and his fading arousal. When he blinks his eyes open she’s there and it feels like she’s staring at him, saying _how could you do that while I’m still in danger, Spencer? How could you do that while there’s an unsub on the loose, taking pretty girls away from boys like you?_

Shame creeps through him and he feels disgusted with himself. He drops a hand to his belly without thinking and grimaces when he brushes up against a pool of his own semen, cooling quickly against his shirt in some foreign hotel room. He clicks his phone off and unbuttons his shirt, throwing it across the room as quickly as he can get it off of him, scrambling to turn off the lights so he doesn’t have to look at the evidence of his weakness anymore.

And yet, after all of that, the last thing Spencer thinks before he finally drifts off is _imagine how much better it would be if you had a real photograph._

…

(y/n)’s been acting differently lately, has been smiling down at her phone and blushing as she talks to her coworkers. And Spencer is a profiler, intellectually he knows - he _knows_ \- what’s going on, but he just can’t believe it. _How could my love abandon me like this,_ he thinks as he watches her sit in her car, fixing her hair and touching up her make-up and taking deep breaths in and out and in and out -

_How could she do this to me?_ he thinks, feeling tears building behind his eyes, _How could she? I’m doing so much for her, and she just…just abandons me!?_

(y/n) steps out of the car, smoothing down her dress and entering the restaurant, disappearing from sight. Spencer waits and waits for her to come back out, for her to realize what a _terrible horrible awful_ choice she’s making - the minutes tick by oh so slowly, and he can feel his anxiety begin to rise.

He wishes he could go inside to check on her, to make sure that she’s alright. But Spencer knows he can’t - it’s still not safe enough for them to be together, and she’s still not ready to accept his help. It still hurts so much, though, to watch her being so reckless. To watch her giving herself to some other man - _doesn’t she know how dangerous this is?_ he thinks, _Doesn’t she know that I’m only looking out for her, that I only want what’s best for her!?_

Spencer’s blood is boiling by the time (y/n) reemerges, this time clinging to the arm of some…some _other man_. He’s not even sure who he’s angry at, really - he’s mad at (y/n) for betraying him, and mad the man for taking her away, and mad at the world for being so wretched. But then he looks, _really looks_ at the two of them - is that…is that something _predatory_ in the man’s gaze? He’s glancing down at her chest, her ass with every other word he speaks. He’s glancing down at those parts of her that are only supposed to be for Spencer.

All of the sudden, Spencer realizes that _this_ is the danger - _this man_ is the danger. And Spencer knows that it’s his job to protect her, to keep her safe from anyone who wants to take advantage of her. But he’s not quite sure what to do about it, not yet - he has no choice but to watch her disappear into his car, to watch her giggle as they drive away together, completely oblivious to the man who just wants to use her for his own pleasure.

He goes home and frets, tugging at his hair as he tries desperately to think of a solution. He scrambles for his desk, pulling open one of the drawers and fiddling with it until the false bottom comes up - he gently reaches for the envelope inside, cradling it in his hands and pausing for a moment before carefully dumpling it out.

The pictures calm him immediately - (y/n) has that great of an effect on him. He caresses her face and imagines how it’ll feel once it’s her skin beneath his hands, not glossy paper. He presses his lips to hers and a shaky breath shudders through him - a familiar tightness starts to build in his pants, but Spencer ignores it. There are more pressing matters to tend to right now.

The sound of his footsteps echo around his apartment as he paces around the living room, holding one of his favorites to his chest as he worries at his lip and wracks his brain for a solution. He conjures up Emily and asks her for help, but she only tells him to calm down. She disappears with a wave of the hand and Morgan appears in her stead, Morgan who left Spencer all alone once little Hank was born. 

“I don’t wanna talk to you,” Spencer mutters, glaring at the apparition across the room, “You’re just a figment of my imagination anyway, you can leave now.”

Morgan just raises an eyebrow and gives him a look before he dissolves, leaving Spencer to scoff at the audacity of his hallucination - to be completely honest, part of the reason he’s so angry is because Morgan was judgemental instead of teasing. He longs for sly glances and _Spencer’s got a girlfriend_ in a sing-song voice. He wants his friends to be happy for him, but knows they would only judge. 

“Think outside the box, Dr. Reid” a voice calls from behind him, “It doesn’t just apply to chess, you know.”

Spencer whirls around to face his former mentor, the man he loves and resents in equal parts, and who’s been buried six feet under for a long time now. “Shut up, Gideon,” Spencer mutters, “I started beating you at chess a long time ago.”

“Spencer,” Gideon chides, “What are you doing? You’re wearing a hole in the carpet with all your pacing - I picked you because you were a genius, now prove to me that you still are.”

“I _am_ a genius,” Spencer snarls, “I don’t need to prove anything to you, Gideon - you _left me_ when I needed you most!”

“Look at yourself, Spencer! You’re pacing around your apartment, obsessing over some woman you’ve never talked to before - she doesn’t know you, Spencer, she doesn’t owe you anything -”

“She loves me -”

“She doesn’t, she’s never met you before! You’re just some creep who got fixated on a pretty girl he saw in the library -”

“I’m not a creep, don’t call me that -”

“Admit it, Spencer, admit it! You’re stalking her - you considered quitting your job for this woman -”

“I didn’t though, _I didn’t -”_

“What do you have in your hands? You’re holding a picture of her, for god’s sake! I bet if I held it under a black light it’d light up like a Christmas tree - you think she’d be happy about that? That she’d be happy about you getting your rocks off to pictures you took of her? You think she wouldn’t be _afraid of you -”_

“Don’t profile me, Gideon -”

“A white male between the ages of thirty and forty. He has severe abandonment and attachment issues that have led him to latch on to this particular individual. It’s likely that he lost a significant other in the past - in fact, if we look back on his life we’ll most likely find a series of traumas -”

“Stop, please stop, just _stop -”_

“You want me to stop, Dr. Reid? Well then think your way out of this - you have two options. Number one - you can keep living this decrepit lifestyle, following that poor woman around and being jealous of her lovers. Beating your meat to thoughts of her because you know she’d be terrified of the real thing. Or, number two - you can forget about her, and all of this will go away. Burn your photographs, never visit that library again -”

“No. Nonono, I can’t - I can’t do that! I need her, I-I can’t -”

“Well then think, Spencer - you’re a genius, aren’t you? _Think!”_

“I-I don’t, I don’t know - _I don’t know!”_ Spencer screams as he continues to pace around his living room, his grip tightening on his hair and he walks and walks and walks -

And then it hits him all of the sudden. 

Gideon smirks in the background and mutters, “You know what you have to do.”

…

_The unsub walks up behind his victim, brushing his fluffy brown hair out of his face as his long legs carry him down the street. He bumps into the unsuspecting man, stuttering out “Oh, sorry” and then continuing on his way, smirking to himself._

_The victim will be dead within twenty-four hours, the unsub made sure of it. The coroner will rule it a natural death, the unsub made sure of that too._

_The victim will disappear into nothingness, never getting the chance to continue poisoning the unsub’s love._

…

His girl looks frightened, and Spencer’s not sure why. He’s taking care of her - he got rid of all those nasty men who wanted to take advantage of her, and now they can’t hurt her anymore. She’s safe now, he made sure of it. 

But his girl is walking into the police station, pulling her cardigan tight around her midsection and shivering just before she makes it inside. Spencer fishes his ID out of his satchel and pins it on, then follows behind her as if nothing is wrong - Will spots him from across the precinct and gives him a wave as he walks through the doors.

“I think I’m in danger,” she tells the officer, “The past three people I’ve dated - with the first two I just figured they didn’t like me when they didn’t call me back, but now there’s been a third! Just… _vanished_ , all three of them!”

The officer just raises his brow, clearly not believing the distraught woman in front of him. “Have you considered,” he says, bracing himself for the inevitable backlash, “that it might just be a coincidence?”

She makes this sound, this _horrible_ frustrated sound - Spencer wishes desperately that he could run to her, that he could scoop her up in his arms and tell her _everything’s alright, you never need to worry about anything ever again. I’m gonna take care of you._ He can’t, of course he can’t - she’s still not ready yet, he can tell. She just needs a little more time, and then she’ll understand that everything he’s done has been with her best interest in mind. 

“Please, please,” she cries, “I-I know that I’m not imagining things - I don’t know what it is but…lately I think someone’s been following me. Please, I…I’m afraid that he’ll come for me next.”

Spencer almost laughs - _come for her next? I’d never hurt her, she’s the love of my life! I’d do anything for her, but hurt her? Never, no I would never._ The officer mumbles, “Alright,” and slides a few forms over the counter. (y/n) takes them with shaking hands, sucking in a deep breath as she flips through them and whispers, “Oh god…”

Spencer slinks away, finding Will in the break room and striking up a conversation about his Henry and Michael and _did JJ still want me to come over this weekend to help with that science project?_ He tracks his girl through his peripheral vision, waiting for her to hand in the report and then head back out the doors. She’s still shaking and _oh how he wishes_ he could comfort her - the urge is so strong now that he can barely stop himself from following her, from making sure that she gets home alright.

There’s something else he has to take care of first. He waits for the conversation to peter out with Will, then meanders up to the front desk. Spencer is a master of misdirection - all it takes is a short conversation with the officer and a little sleight of hand. 

The report never even gets filed.

…

_A letter arrives on Emily Prestiss’ desk talking about three men whose deaths couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. A letter arrives on Emily Prestiss’ desk talking about a librarian who fears for her life and police who won’t listen._

_A letter arrives on Emily Prentiss’ desk with the signature (y/n) (y/l/n)._

…

It happens in a beautiful cacophony of events:

Spencer sees a face on the screen in front of him, sees a face he knows better than even his own. His breath catches in his throat, heart starts pounding in his chest - _(y/n) is in danger_ , he thinks to himself, _How could I not have noticed that (y/n) is in danger?_

Emily says, “This is (y/n) (y/l/n) - she contacted me personally about her case after filing a number of police reports that were never looked into. She first became concerned when the past three people she dated all seemingly vanished, and after looking into it discovered that all three had died of unknown ‘natural’ causes…”

He floats through the rest of the day in a daze, barely hearing what anyone is saying as the investigation continues. He’s upset that she doesn’t trust him to protect her - he’s been trying so hard, and this is what he gets in return? But then again, when has his best ever been good enough? He just needs to try a little harder, sleep a little less, drink a little more coffee - then she’ll see, she’ll know that he’ll always be there for her. He’ll never let anyone hurt her.

When Emily calls it for the night, he takes the case files home with him - he’s gotta find this guy, after all. It’s his job to keep her safe, and he’ll be damned if he lets anything happen to her. But there is no evidence in the coroner’s reports ( _of course there isn’t - you are a genius, aren’t you? Of course you didn’t leave anything behind, not even a single trace of that chemical_ ) and there is nothing to go off of. 

“Well that’s not quite true, is it?” Gideon’s voice echoes in his ears - Spencer looks up to see him loitering by that desk drawer, the one with Spencer’s secret hidden inside. “Use all of the evidence, Dr. Reid,” Gideon chides, “Maybe you captured the unsub in one of your pictures, who knows?”

He’s right. (“Of course I’m right,” Gideon mutters.) Spencer hurries over to the drawer, practically tearing it open in his haste to get at the evidence inside. The pictures feel so perfect in his hands, just like always. He takes a moment to close his eyes and press one to his lips, to inhale the sweet scent of the perfume he spritzed onto them in a moment of weakness a few months prior.

“Stop dawdling,” Gideon barks, “Your love is in danger, catch the unsub and then it’ll finally be time for you to have her.”

It alights a fire inside of Spencer - he needs to catch this guy more than he’s ever needed anything else in his life. More than he ever needed acceptance or drugs - he would sacrifice anything for his love. And so he looks through the photographs, getting more and more frantic as the night stretches on without success. “There’s nothing here!” he screams at Gideon, “Why did you want me to look so badly, there’s nothing here at all!”

Spencer is sobbing, distraught at his own inability to help his girl. Gideon just tuts in the corner, peering down at Spencer with his hands behind his back and not saying anything at all. “Help me!” Spencer cries, “Why won’t you help me, d-don’t you want what’s best for her? Don’t you want to help her?”

“Of course I do,” whispers Gideon, “I always wanted to help you, it was always so painful when you got hurt. And I know it hurts right now, but one day you’ll understand. I promise you that, Spencer - one day, you’ll wake up and you’ll understand.”

Spencer’s exhausted from his tears - he doesn’t have the energy to decipher Gideon’s riddles right now. He rests his forehead on the desk in front of him and buries his face in his arms, salty tears staining the wood as he continues to sob. “Why do you always have to be so cryptic?” he mumbles, “Why can’t you just make sense for once?”

The apparition of Gideon runs a hand down his back, a sad smile gracing his lips as he looks down at the man the real him considered a son. “Sometimes our brains work really hard to try and protect us,” he whispers, “Sometimes we have to realize things on our own, otherwise we won’t accept them.

Too tired to argue anymore, Spencer just sighs and lets his eyes fall closed, drifting off to sleep amongst the photographs he took of his love.

…

It’s 9am and Spencer still hasn’t shown up for work, but his coworkers don’t think too much of it. _He was acting a little off yesterday, wasn’t he? Maybe he’s just coming down with something and slept through his alarm._

It’s 10am and Spencer still hasn’t shown up for work, and images of drugs and Mexico are creeping into their minds. They can’t help but think about the last time he was late for work, about long sleeves and prominent cheekbones and clandestine hits in bathroom stalls. They can’t help but think about the last time Spencer was acting off, about the last time he didn’t tell them what was wrong, about a jail cell in Mexico and cut on his hand. A cognitive that didn’t help at all.

It’s 10:15 and JJ is driving towards Spencer’s apartment, a sinking feeling in her stomach building as she swerves between cars and runs a red light. She takes a deep breath and tries his cell one last time, her hands shaking against the wheel when he still doesn’t answer and she accelerates down the road. 

She takes the stairs two at a time, nearly dropping the spare key as she fishes it out of her bag and tries to fit it into the hole. She’s two seconds away from just pulling out her gun and kicking the door down when the lock finally clicks open - she pushes inside and warily looks around, scanning the familiar living space for signs of a struggle.

Spencer’s apartment looks just like it always does - an ordered mess that could use a little dusting. His fluff head is resting on his desk, the faint sound of his snores escapes his lips - JJ lets out a breath, trembling from the adrenaline rush as she makes her way over to him, calling, “Spencer, it’s almost 11am! I thought something had happened to you -”

Her breath catches in her throat as she looks down at his desk, at the hundreds (oh god, _hundreds_ ) of pictures of (y/n). Pictures of the victim, pictures that Spencer Reid definitely shouldn’t have. She raises a hand to her lips, too horrified to even gasp as she stares down at the pictures, at the images of a woman who clearly didn’t know she was being photographed. At the strange spots where the glossiness has been rubbed off - she furrows her brow at those for a second, confused and thinking _what could have possibly…?_

A split-second later she realizes _exactly_ where those splatters came from and she wants to throw up. She thinks about the man sleeping in front of her as the bile tickles the back of her throat, thinks about how she trusted him, how he’s the godfather of her children, how she thought she knew who he was. She can’t imagine how he could have done this, how he could’ve -

Spencer stirs awake and looks up at her, his brown eyes groggy from sleep and so deceptively gentle that she nearly falters. “JJ?” he mumbles, “What’re you doin’ here?”

She stands there frozen as he tilts his head in confusion, blinking the sleep from his eyes and then jolting upright once the sunlight streaming in through the curtains finally registers. “Oh shit!” he squeaks, “Oh I’m so sorry - I must’ve forgotten to set my alarm, I hope you guys weren’t too worried -”

The click of JJ’s safety cuts him off. He turns to her in alarm, raises his hands as he stumbles backwards and stutters, “JJ? W-what are you doing, put your gun down -”

She can’t help but glance back over the pictures, trying to reconcile the Spencer she knows with the one standing in front of her. For a second she looks over him and thinks this must be some kind of mistake, it must be Cat framing him -

Spencer instinctively follows her gaze, and he goes sheet white as soon as he sees the pictures. He looks up at her in horror, swallowing nervously not even attempting to make excuses - that’s how she knows. This is real, no matter how much she wishes she could deny it.

“Put your hands behind your head,” she barks, her voice barely wavering as she levels her gun at him. He listens without saying a word, just tucks his hands behind his head and looks at her with terror in his eyes. 

He doesn’t fight as she pushes him to his knees and cuffs him to the desk, keeping her gun pointed at him as she backs away, making sure her position is secure before reaching into her pocket for her phone. 

Spencer watches her dial Emily’s number, watches her lift the phone to her ear, listens to her shaky voice as she says, “You guys need to get down here. Yeah, to Spencer’s apartment. No he’s…he’s fine. Just - just come. And hurry,” and then hangs up and lets her cell fall to the floor.

…

_She sees him for the first time on a Thursday afternoon._

_It’s 12:08 - she’s been shaking in the police station ever since they called her half an hour ago and said they finally caught the guy. These past few months have been the scariest of her life._

_His hands are cuffed behind his back when they walk him through the doors, but she still gets chills down her spine. An officer tries to usher her away, tries to tell her not to give him what he wants, but this is something she needs to do._

_She thinks maybe she’s seen him before, maybe in the library or in the park across from her apartment, but she can’t place him for sure. He’s a stranger, and she doesn’t know if that’s more or less terrifying than if he were someone she knew._

_For a second she tries to think of what she could have possibly done to make him do this to her - she manages to stop that train of thought. She thinks about the blonde woman who talked to her yesterday, thinks about what she said._ It’s nothing you did, these guys…maybe he thought you smiled at him, maybe he just saw you from across the room. Whatever it was that set him off, none of this is your fault, not at all.

_He looks over at her and he looks so normal, so completely ordinary. All these months she thought she’d be able to tell as soon as she saw him, that she’d know as soon as she looked into his eyes. That there would be some kind of terrifying, dark, evilness hidden inside of them. His eyes look gentle, they look perfectly nice -_ that’s the scariest part of all, _she thinks,_ how can someone like him look so perfectly nice?

_“(y/n)!” he calls from across the police station and the dark-haired agent holding his arm tightens her grip. He doesn’t look evil at all - he only has eyes for her, for (y/n), and he’s looking at her as if she’s his god. For a split second (y/n) pities him, feels bad for this man who was so lonely that he fell in love with a woman he’s never spoken to before. She remembers them telling her that he probably lost a significant other, that he’s probably doing this out of some misguided sense of love._

_Then she overhears someone talking about photographs and UV analysis and her skin crawls. She doesn’t feel bad for him, no - he disgusts her. His very existence disgusts her - the fact that he thought he had the right to kill for her, to take pictures of her, to…to_ touch himself _to thoughts of her?_

_She turns away with a grimace and lets an agent lead her off. His cries of anguish and tearful, “I love you - I love you, (y/n)!” echo over the rattling of handcuffs._

How disgusting _, she thinks,_ let him rot.


End file.
